Insanity
by Ingridinwonderland
Summary: Even the nicest of people have their breaking points. I just never expected him to be mine.
1. Prologue

Even the nicest people have their limits. My father had always said that. People are complex creatures, they laugh and they cry and they hate and they hurt but they're strong. I've met a few people that got angry at little, unimportant things that mattered to no one, not even themselves. They would scream at someone for chewing too loudly, or would put their fist through a wall because the were woken up too early by a noisy neighbour. Then there are the people that bit their ting and hold it all inside until they're alone in the safety of their bedroom. Then they scream and cry and throw things as they please because they know nobody is watching. And then there's the worst kind of person. The kind that takes their anger out on others; hitting and hurting and murdering. I never thought I'd be one of those people.


	2. Petrified

/ warning: there's violence and bullying in this chapter. I figured I'd start this off by showing what Pythagoras' current situation is. I don't know if the rating is right for this fic because I know nothing about them, so of its wrong please tell me. I hope you enjoy and please review :) /

Hoards of excited teenagers crowded round the cowering boy, yelling and jeering. The leader of the group was Harry. He was a pig-faced, overweight sixth year with shoulder length hair and green eyes, and he had always insisted he was just 'big boned', not fat like his father always told him. He loomed over Pythagoras, a snide smile on his lips and a look of hatred in his eyes.  
'I asked you a question, faggot.' He spat, kicking the frightened boy in the ribs. Pythagoras whimpered, a tear fell from his eye as the steel-toes boot connected with his chest. He let out a cry of pain, which only encouraged the crowd to continue.  
'No!' He stuttered. 'I didn't... T-touch her.' Pythagoras shuffled backwards, towards the lockers, and hugged his knees to his chest.  
'Are ya callin' my sister a liar?' Harry yelled, bending down and taking a clump of Pythagoras' hair in his fist. 'My sister ain't no liar!' He yelled. Pythagoras turned his face away, tried to wriggle free from Harry's grasp, but the boy just held on tighter.  
'I didn't touch her.' Pythagoras pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut. Harry's sister was Theresa, and Pythagoras had sat next to her at lunch that day. The did not speak, in fact she barely acknowledged his presence. She was only thirteen.  
Harry raised his fist and brought it down on Pythagoras' cheek. The world turned fuzzy, and Pythagoras tasted blood. Another blow was dealt, this time it loosened a tooth. Pythagoras lifted his arms to cover his face, and he struggled to move away from Harry's rage. A sudden stinging sensation covered his scalp, but he could only focus on moving backwards and away from danger. Opening his eyes, he saw the crowd had shrunk. A few familiar faces stared back at him, and as he caught the eye of a young girl she smiled. Harry once again loomed over him, and Pythagoras looked up at him fearfully.  
'Next time,' he growled, stomping on Pyhagoras' fingers. 'I'll fucking kill ya.'

The crowd had long gone, but Pythagoras remained a heap on the floor. He held a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stop the blood from his broken tooth ruining his school shirt. His ribs ached more with every breath he took, and he had long since given up trying to stand. He sat with his back against the locker and his head hung. It wasn't the first time he'd been beaten by Harry Byrd, and he was certain it wouldn't be the last. Since hi first day at this school, he had been teased because of his name and his strawberry blonde hair. He'd not had one friend. Sometimes he wished he had never been born, that nobody would notice his absence if he just got up one day and left, a packed bag on his back and a few hundred pounds in his pocket.  
A pair of leather-clad feet appeared before him, and he glanced up, the throbbing in his head intensifying as the light his his eyes.  
'Mr. Grey,' Pythagoras recognised the voice as that of Mr. Garrow, the headmaster. He let out a shaky breath. 'Here again, are we?'  
'Yes, sir.' Pythagoras mumbled.  
'What happened this time? Was another pupil 'lying' again?' Mr. Garrow mocked, smiling down at the boy.  
'Y-yes sir.'  
'Honestly boy, this is the third time this month. Get your act together or you'll be out of here in a flash!' With that, the teacher spun on his heel and carried on his way down the hallway.

Pythagoras stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His cheek had an inch long cut across it, and dark red blood had snaked it's way down his neck and stained his white collar red. He had a fist sized bruise around his left eye, and his lip was bust. He had no idea how he would explain yet another beating to his overbearing mother, Penny. Though he was bullied relentlessly every day, she insisted that he 'man up' and continue going, no matter what. Turning on the cold tap, he leaned over the sink and tried clean the blood from his face. It wasn't until the ice cold water hit his skin that he realised he had been tired. The world suddenly came into focus, and he realised that he was almost half an hour late for English. Grabbing his blazer and bag, he rushed from the room and through the now empty hallways.

Peering through the small window, Pythagoras' heart beat a little faster. He was afraid of many things, and arriving to class late was one if them. He knew he had to go in, but his eat was at the back of the room and to get there he'd have to walk through rows of his classmates, all eyes would be on him. Not to mention his teacher would give him a telling off for being so late. He let sick as he opened the door and took a step into the room. As he'd guessed, everyone stopped working and looked at him.  
'My Grey, where have you been?' The teacher questioned, irritated. Pythagoras glanced nervously to Harry, who sat near to the front. He have Pythagoras a threatening look and slowly shook his head. Pythagoras wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt and shrugged his shoulders.  
'I'm sorry, I was at the nur-'  
'Just sit down and get to work!' The teacher snapped, turning back to her desk. Pythagoras moved warily, his eyes scanning the floor for any stuck-out feet or anything else that could possibly make him fall over.  
The rowing his bag on the empty chair next to his own, Pythagoras sat down and pulled out his notebook.

By the time school got out, Pythagoras had all but given up hope of getting through the day. He supposed he was used to feeling that way, after three years of it, but as he made his way home he got the strange feeling that things would only get worse of him. He was only fifteen, too young to really understand the hardships of life. That's what his mother told him, at least. He thought she was wrong. He turned onto his street and a sudden wave of safety washed over him. It was then that a hand grabbed his shoulder and dragged him backwards into a garden. He was thrown against the brick wall of the house, and was not surprised to see Harry and his two best friends, Luca and Jake, closing in on him.  
'What do you want?' Pythagoras asked. He stood up straight and tried to pretend that the minnow swimming in his stomach wasn't there. It was no use, they saw right through him.  
'I've decided that I let you off to easily earlier. I mean, you tried to feel up my little sister after all.'  
'I told you, I didn't touch her!'  
'Liar,' Luca stated. 'I saw you do it.'  
'You gonna call him a liar, too?'  
'I-' He was cut off with a slap to the face, which in turn caused his head to bounce backwards and band against the wall. The boys laughed, and Harry stepped forwards.  
'Now for your punishment.' He snarled, his voice cold. From the corner of his eye, Pythagoras saw him pull something from his shirt pocket. 'I say we play a little game. Boys, hold his arms.' Pythagoras attempted to run, but Luca and Jake were too quick for him. His arms were pinned painfully against the wall, and as Harry moved closer to him, Pythagoras saw he held a small knife in his hand.  
'Now what's gonna happen is this,' Harry pressed the knife into Pythagoras' stomach and with a swift flick of his wrist, the button of his shirt was gone. 'You're gonna stand here like the good little faggot you are, and I'm gonna let the world know what you really are.' Pythagoras let out a cry for help, and in a second the knife was at his throat.  
'I suggest you shut the fuck up!' As the knife was lowered to his chest, Pythagoras shut his eyes and soon he felt the cool breeze on his now exposed chest. The coldness if the blade was now against his flesh, and as the first small cut was made, he cried out again. Jake pulled the beanie from his head and stuffed it into the boys mouth, muffling his cries as the letter 'W' was carved into his skin.


	3. Gratitude

/ thank you for the reviews! It means a lot that people are actually taking time to read some thing I've been working on for a few weeks. /

Closing the door quietly behind him, Pythagoras struggled to hold the front of his blood-soaked shirt together. He gripped his blazer and his school bag close to his stomach and made his way to the stairs, each step more painful than the last. He winced as the bottom stair creaked loudly. Quickening his step, he had almost made it to the top when his mothers voice called out to him.  
'Pythagoras, is that you?' He tried to steady his breath and looked back over his shoulder. The kitchen was brightly lit and the smell of roast turkey and potatoes filled the large house. The smell made him feel sick, and he hunched over, his hand covering his mouth. The mix of pain and nausea grew worse as he heard his mothers footsteps come closer.  
'Oh good,' his mother poked her head through the doorway and looked, emotionless, at her son. He struggled to straighten up and look less of a mess, lifting his blazer higher to cover the ever growing blood stain on his shirt. Peering over his shoulder, he forced a smile.  
'The people that moved in across the street are coming for dinner. Go put on your best clothes and help me set the table.'  
Mumbling a quick yes, Pythagoras ran up the remaining three steps, trying his best to ignore the pain as he slammed the door shut behind him. He struggled with the lock as his hands were trembling, and the second he heard the click his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed to the floor on his knees, his face buried in the crook of his elbow as the tears flowed fast. He had never been so afraid. The thought that his life could possibly end at the hands of his classmate had made him freeze to the ground. Even once they had run away, laughing and high fiving each other, it had taken almost an hour before his legs had regained their feeling and he was able to stumble home, holding the front of his ripped shirt together.  
He lay on the cold bathroom floor, blood slowly pooling around him, until his mother banged on the door and demanded he hurry up.  
'They'll be here in half an hour! Get your lazy ass moving and get dressed!' He pushed himself to his knees.  
'S-sorry, I'll be right out.'  
He moved to the mirror and stared at his reflection. He looked a mess. On top of the bruises he'd gained earlier that morning, there was now a fresh one that circled his neck. It looked dark and frightening against the paleness of his skin, and Pythagoras could clearly make out the shape of Harry's hand. His eyes fell to his chest. Slowly, he peeled his shirt away from the bloody mess. Fresh tears welled in his eyes as he put the letters together, repeating that one word over and over in his mind. He had been branded a whore.

His encounter with Harry had left him paralysed, he sat like a statue at the kitchen table as his mother fussed and cleared away dirty dishes. His eyes were glued to the empty plate in front of him, his appetite was nonexistent. There was a gentle knock on the front door, and Pythagoras' mother hurried to answer it. Glancing to the door, Pythagoras could see three people; a middle-aged man stood grasping his mothers hand, a smile plastered on his bearded face. Beside him was a woman, younger by years and wearing a bright yellow sundress with small pink roses dotted around it. She grinned at his mother and held out her hand, introducing herself as Mary, and her husband as Jacob. Then she turned and looked to the young man that stood behind her.  
'And this,' she said, taking the boy by the arm and ushering him forward. 'Is our son. Jason.' The boy looked scruffy, with brown curly hair that almost reached his shoulders and a suit that was far too big on him. He smiled unsurely and glanced around him at the large hallway he stood in. He looked afraid and once he'd shaken the woman's hand, he stepped backwards into the shadows and out of Pythagoras' sight.  
'Come, come, the food is almost ready. I'm Leila, and this is my son, Pythagoras.' She waved towards the skinny, hunched up boy and he forced a smile. From the hallway came a soft chuckle, and Pythagoras' face fell. He glared at the boy and sunk lower in his chair, his arms folding defensively across his scarred chest.  
'Take a seat.' Leila sat at the head of the table, as she had done since Pythagoras' father had left. Mary and Jacob say opposite Pythagoras, which left Jason to sit next to him.  
'It's nice to meet you, boy.' Jacob grinned at him across the table.  
'Is it?' Pythagoras frowned and looked down at his arm. Speckles of flood still remained on his skin, barely noticeable but they were there.  
'Manners!' Leila stated. Pythagoras sat up a little straighter and smiled sarcastically at his mother. Beside him, Jason cleared his throat.  
'Food smells great.'  
'Thank you, Jason. It was always a favourite of... Well, it must be about ready now. Excuse me.'  
'So, uh... Pythagoras,' Mary spoke up. 'Have you lived here long?'  
Pythagoras nodded. 'Since I was three.'  
'A long time then. You must be, what? Seventeen, eighteen?'  
'Fifteen, actually.'  
'Is that so?' Jacob interjected. He glanced between Pythagoras and Jason, a look of determination in his eyes. 'Same age as our Jason, then.' Pythagoras looked to Jason. The boy seemed sullen, his eyes were dull and void of emotion as he glared towards the kitchen where Leila had just retreated. He did not react to the mention of his name, nor to the small kick he reviews from his father. Pythagoras frowned.  
'Is he alright?' He asked. Jacob shrugged.  
'He's a kid, you know. Always off in some bad mood.'  
'Fuck you.' Jason stated, turning took at his father with hatred in his eyes. Pythagoras looked between the two men. Jacob's face did not betray his emotions. He sat perfectly still, his smile not faltering. Jason, however, was almost trembling with anger. His fist gripped his trouser leg tightly. Leila returned to the dining room with a large tray of delicious smelling food; roast turkey and fried asparagus, it had always been his favourite meal, but now the smell of the thick, gooey gravy almost made him gag. The colour drained from his face as the tray was set in front of him on the table.  
'Help yourselves.' Leila said, cheerfully. She took her seat and proceeded to fill her plate, and Jacob and Mary followed her lead. It didn't take long for the entire tray to be empty.

Once the pudding was eaten and the plates were cleared away, the grown ups moved into the living room and Leila suggested that Pythagoras show Jason his room. Both boys had objected, Pythagoras longed for his bed. He wanted nothing more than to swallow a bottle of painkillers and sleep the agony away. Jason felt much the same, though he was in significantly less pain. As the two boys climbed the stairs, Jason yawned loudly and rubbed his tired eyes.  
His bedroom wasn't much. It was a fairly small, square room with a tiny window and barely any room to move around, but it was warm and cosy and Pythagoras loved it because it was his. The walls were painted light green and he had a few posters of his favourite bands dotted around. He moved towards his desk, which was in the far corner of the room. Pulling out the chair, he was about to sit when Jason spoke. His deep voice startled him.  
'I saw what they did to you.' Jason stated, bluntly. He leaned against the door frame with his hands in his pockets and looked at Pythagoras with a sly smile on his face. 'Sounded painful.' Pythagoras let out a shaky breath and turned to look at Jason.  
'How?'  
'You were in my garden, it was kind of hard to ignore. What did they do?'  
'I thought you saw...'  
'You know what I mean. That guy wrote something on your chest, right?' Jason stepped into the room. His hands dropped to his side as he neared Pythagoras.  
'Wh- he might have.' Pythagoras looked down to his chest, nausea returning as the memory flashed into his mind.  
'How bad was it? Is it still bleeding?'  
'Why do you care?' Pythagoras lifted his head, but he did not look at Jason. His eyes rested on a spot on the wall behind his head.  
'I don't. But my dad's a nurse, I know what happens if a cut gets infected. It ain't pretty.'  
'It's fine, it's just a scratch.' Pythagoras sat on the cold wooden chair and rested his feet on the edge of his bed. Shaking his head, Jason turned back towards the doorway.  
'Fine. I'm just trying to help.'  
'Help? Why would you want to help _me_?' Jason paused, his hand on the doorframe.  
'Someone has to.' Pythagoras closed his eyes and listened as Jason's footsteps faded. The cuts on his chest throbbed, matching the beat of his heart. He had school again the next day, and he debated not going but he knew he had to. He supposed he would see Jason there, and that was reason enough.


End file.
